"The Explorers" 14ft tall by 48ft long mural painting in Vienna, Austria alongside my friend Dead Beat Hero this past weekend. His comic book style robot characters emerging from the river into my crazy cartoon world.
This line from the Stephin Merritt episode of the 'She's A Talker' podcast (referring to Stephen Sondheim plot-lines) got my imagination ticking in overdrive
I am an art teacher with a master’s degree—trained by brilliant professors who believed that art could do more than decorate walls. I offer safe spaces for teenagers to grow—nourishing soil where their imaginations can take root.
And yet… I am assigned to hallway duty.
This is compulsory education, after all.
So I sit—posted like a sentinel—watching young lives stream past.
“Get to class,” I say with a smile and a nudge.
The system wants attendance; I’m hungry for presence.
Armed not with a whistle or clipboard, but with a pen—
my scribble’s soft insurgency.
The hallway stretches out like a geometric hymn.
Columns and corners chant structure.
Teenagers swirl past—half-formed galaxies of limbs and laughter—
their orbits chaotic, their gravity pulling time forward.
I begin to draw.
Not their tardiness, but their motion.
A shoulder. A blur of sneakers.
A tilted head chasing freedom.
Feet flickering like seconds.
Each mark a pulse.
Each smudge a breath.
My paper becomes a seismograph of seeing—
trembling gently through the mundane.
This isn’t about making art for a frame or a feed.
It’s about refusing to leak away in the fluorescent hum of obligation.
It’s a quiet mutiny against the clock.
I do this on long car rides, too (passenger side, mind you).
Letting the lines grow wild, jagged, and unapologetic.
Not for polish—
but for presence.
This is how I remember I’m still alive.
Still growing.
Still watching.
Still choosing to see.
Because sometimes mental health looks like
a piece of scrap paper,
a moving pen,
and the simple, sacred act of
marking time with wonder.
This is no landscape you could ever stand in.
No observational drawing, no safe horizon line.
This chalk experiment is a dream unfolding in color: a golden field lit from within, a scarlet seam of fire at its edge, and a storm-heavy sky pressing down with ancient weight.
It feels like a place between worlds—where the conscious and unconscious meet, where memory and imagination blur. Some might see a battlefield, others a meadow after rain, and still others a veil between life and death. That is the beauty: the painting does not tell you what it is; it invites you to confess what you see.
Psychologists say we project ourselves onto images like these. So—what do you notice first? The light? The darkness? The burning red?
Perhaps that is not about the drawing at all, but about you.
“Just as the permanent foundation of the ground provides the springboard for voyages into outer space, so it is with the more mysterious flights of imagination.”
— Roland Penrose.
One of my favorite things about being a parent is listening to the stories my daughter makes up and really trying to encourage her imagination. She has named a bunch of the cacti which line our windowsills, while our cacti are very accustomed to their suburban lives they also like a bit of adventure, this is a group of them taking a family vacation to the desert.
In wanting to get active with my fellow doodler community, I wanted to stop in and introduce myself. My name is Dalton Stark, I live in Texas, and i'm a doodle addict, and an advocate for the possibility of anything. For me, doodling is my purest state of being human. My sketchbooks are a very sacred place for me to practice this expressive and arcane form of imagination meditation, which I'm always trying to find more excuses to spend more time in. It is to me, all about intuition, making discoveries, surprising yourself, having fun and maybe even making yourself and others smile or laugh sometimes. I look forward to being a part of this beautiful inky ecosystem with y'all, here are some very secret sketchbook spreads.
Jook’s doodle colouring books are a collection of true gems. Her anthropomorphic and surreal scenes depict a plethora of creatures, spanning from cute and innocent-looking to downright bizarre and monster-like. Flip through the pages, get colouring and get inspired. Join Jook’s world. Colouring books for ages 7 to 77.
I am a Belgian female artist & illustrator and I use a self-invented technique of automatic drawing to delve into my subconscious. I doodle everywhere and every spare moment. By quickly drawing, barring any conscious thought, I am giving as much room as possible to my imagination. Through extensive, at times even compulsive, doodling, a new and totally unique world arises. Come visit, get inspired and maybe get lost in my subconscious. Join my world and my obsessive-compulsive drawings. More info: doodleart.shop | Facebook | instagram | youtube page of the book
